Blood and Rain (13 page)

Olson takes another drag and stares up at the sun burning bright above the trees to the east. For such an intimidating presence, the man has the softest green eyes Joe's ever seen. Warm, welcoming.

“My daddy knew about 'em even then. Not that I had a clue about any of it. Them bullets I gave you back in '97? Leftovers from a previous order.”

Joe dropped his butt to the tar and crushed it beneath his boot. “That so? From what?”

“You ever hear of them slayings up in Jackman? Was the year before your troubles.”

“Don't think so. Jackman's a heck of a way up there. What's the connection?”

“A boy comes down. Says his cousin sent him. Cousin's name is Megill, I know the name. Old Silas married a Nancy Megill from Allagash. So the boy asks for the silver slugs, same as you. I got 'em for him. After giving the rest to you I decided to follow up on the area I know Megill's from, and uncover all of these stories of mutilated bodies and such.”

“Same as me..”

“Same as you.”

“We got anything left in the old silver line?”

“Funny you should ask.” Olson opens the back door and gestures for Joe to head in.

Back at the counter, Olson pulls out a big yellow box.

“You ain't the first one to come in here this week asking for these.”

Joe tipped his Stetson up and raised his brow. “Anyone you know?”

“Nope. He was a real nervous fella. About six one, black hair, kind of grown out a bit, and sideburns. Real intense looking.”

“Give you a name?”

“Yep.” Olson heads out back and returns with a pink sheet of paper in hand.

“Ted McKinney.”

“And when was this?”

“Few days ago. Sold him a piece.

Great, just what I need.

“Told him I didn't have the bullets though. Told him he watched too many movies. Didn't know him from Adam, y'know. Least you came with a reference.”

Joe thought of Stan.

“Another guy called on the phone. Didn't give me a name. Said ‘dude' a couple of times. I just figured it was some kids caught up in that cartoon monster you got people writing about.”

Couple of annoying punks from New Hampshire.
“Yep, probably just a couple of dumb kids.

“Listen, Barlow, I need to know more. Obviously, after last time, I didn't expect to be back here under these circumstances. Your father ever pass down anything you might think can help make sure I'm not back in a couple years?”

“You filled it with the bullets I gave ya last time?”

“Yep. Every last one.”

Olson leaned back and scratched his beard. “Daddy never involved himself any further than stocking and selling the bullets. Said knowing something was out there and doing his part to aid in its demise was good enough. Me, I ran the same way, until it hit so close to home.”

Olson bent down and came back with a black sheath featuring three gold inlays. He held it out to Joe.

Joe took the weapon in his hands.

“Is this what I think it is?”

“You can't just shoot these things. The silver will fuck the shit out of 'em. Drop 'em out of commission for a long-ass time, but it's not enough.”

Joe unsheathed the blade. The steel came free with a quiet
sssss
.

“That there is a Masahiro Yanagi Katana blade.”

Joe set the sheath down on the counter and held the beautiful sword in his hands. He felt both in awe and out of place holding the weapon. He placed a finger to the sharp side of the blade. When he pulled his finger away, he noticed the thin red line where he had made contact. “And this should work?”

Barlow leaned back and stroked his beard. “I've done a little more research since checking on the Jackman stories. According to what I found, only way to keep a werewolf down for good is to take off its goddamn head.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Back in Bumfuck, Maine—hell yes,” Joel said. “Where are we staying this time?”

“Motel 6 again. It's cheap and we can smoke our brains out.”

“Damn, I wanted to stay at the Bruton Inn. That place has some old ghost stories, man.”

Wes was sketching pictures of hairy men with pointed ears and sharp teeth. “We're not here for ghosts. We've come to cover the Full Moon Monster, and don't you forget it.”

“Nah, I know, man. But we gotta take a trip just to explore that next time. I freaking love ghosts.”

“You've never seen a ghost and you know it.”

“But if I did, I'd be fuckin' stoked.”

Wes held up his finished masterpiece. “What do you think?”

“Dude, that's awful. Have you not drawn since fifth grade art class?”

“Fuck you. Our exit's coming up. Junction to Route 5.”

“I'm just fucking with you. It looks cute.”

“You're a dick.”

They both laughed as Joel careened the vehicle off to the exit on their right.

The drive up Route 5 to Hollis Oaks was spent cranking the Specials and the Misfits. Joel pulled into the Motel 6 parking lot. “Home, sweet home.”

“I'll go see if I can check us in early,” Wes said. “You grab the gear.”

“What the fuck is all this shit anyway?”

“Stuff I got from Harry Pierce. He owed me a favor.”

Wes got their keys and helped Joel lug in the cameras and sensory devices he'd borrowed from his old roommate Harry. They got the equipment inside and cracked the six-pack of PBR Tall Boys.

“So tell me, what's the plan?” Joel lit a smoke and offered one to Wes.

He eyed the equipment on the bed. “We really shouldn't be smoking around Harry's shit, but what the fuck.” He grabbed the proffered smoke and lit up. “From what I gather, we have a couple of hot spots. Paulson Park is obvious, but I'm thinking somewhere around Old Gilson Creek Road seems perfect too.”

“So, what, we set up cameras and this shit at the park and somewhere along the side of the road?”

“I found a pretty sweet spot for us to spend the day. Emerson Lake.”

“Okay?”

“When's the last time you got laid?”

“What? Since Stacy, I guess.”

“Well, just off Old Gilson Creek is Emerson Lake. I don't see any reason why we can't set the shit up just off the beach.”

“Outta curiosity, why the lake?”

“Email I got a couple days ago. Might be nothing, might be something. One of the locals emailed me that she saw something watching her from the trees just off of the sand.”

“She saw it? But the moon isn't full yet? I'm callin' fraud.”

“Maybe, probably, but if there's a werewolf in this town, and I think we can both agree that there is, somebody is hiding their full-moon identity.”

“Okay.”

“What if that somebody is scoping out their territory?”

“I like it. I like it.”

“So…we set up in the spot the girl says she saw this figure, then we hit the beach for a couple hours of sun and bikini watching.”

“Genius. Cheers.”

Wes clanged his can to Joel's. “Drink up, bud. Tonight, on Full Moon Eve, we drink to the monster that's gonna make us a million bucks.”

Deputy Clarke saw Ted's Honda Rebel in the driveway. The black bike, still dressed with saddlebag, told Dwayne Ted was back. He stopped and ran up to say hello.

“Hey, Ted, what the hell? When did you get back?”

Ted opened the door and walked back to the couch. He was watching
The Howling
. “Got back today.”

“And you're watching werewolf movies. Of course.”

“Studying.”

Oh God.
“Well, how was the tour?”

“Don't know. Didn't go.”

“What? What are you talking about? You left. The show's been on best of shit for the last two weeks.”

“I needed to get away for a bit.”

“Well…where the hell were you?”

“Dwayne, you're my best friend. We need to talk.”

“Oh for Chrissakes, Ted, what is it? More monster nonsense?”

“Listen, I need to show you some things.”

Ted got up from the couch and crossed to the little desk next to the TV.

“Holy shit, Ted. Where the hell did you get that?” His friend held a Glock 9mm identical to his own.

“Bought it at the gun shop in Hollis Oaks.” He set the gun down and lifted a brown box. “And these are silver bullets.”

“Silver bullets.”

“Wolf killers.”

“Jesus, Ted, listen to yourself. I've kept my mouth shut for a long time, but this… You have to get your shit together. I mean,
silver bullets
? Are you fucking losing it or what? What were you doing for the last two weeks?”

“They're
my
fucking bullets, this is
my
fucking gun, and I'm not going crazy, Dwayne. Has Joe said anything about Friday night? Huh?”

“No, because Joe's not fucking crazy. The craziest thing he's doing this weekend is closing Emerson Lake at five instead of eight.”

“I know it's hard to believe—”

“It's fucking stupid.”

“But I've seen firsthand what this thing can do. What this thing will do again if we're not ready.”

“I don't have time for this.” Dwayne went to the door. “Why don't you go talk to Joe? Maybe he'll put you up for the next night or two at the station so you don't have a chance to fucking accidently shoot yourself or somebody else.”

“Uncle Ted.”

Alex McKinney and the sheriff's daughter, Sonya, came through the doorway.

“Hi, Dwayne,” Sonya said.

“Hey, Sonya.” Dwayne turned back to Ted. “Don't go filling these kids up with all of this. Joe will kill you.”

“Night, Alex. Night, Sonya.”

“Night, Dwayne,” Sonya said.

“What was that all about?” Alex said.

Sonya gave Ted a hug. “How was the tour?”

“I…I wasn't on tour.”

“What do you mean you weren't on tour?” Alex said.

“Sit down, you two.” Ted placed himself between the kids and the gun lying on his desk.

Sonya followed Alex to the sofa.

“I needed to work out a few things. I told the band to take Bobby in my place.”

“But your bike was gone, and you weren't at—”

“I know. I was looking into some things.”

“Are you still in the band?” Sonya asked.

“Sure, maybe, I don't know.”

“Well what about this weekend? We're supposed to see you guys at the Nail?”

“Alex, I don't think anyone should be going anywhere this weekend.” Ted didn't want to tell them any more than he had to. Who knows what Joe would do if his daughter came home talking about werewolves. “This is… Your father knows there's something out there.”

“Yeah, but we haven't had any attacks since that one night,” Sonya said. “Whatever it was is gone.”

“Unless you think it's a—”

“Alex, I'm not saying it's anything. Call me superstitious, but I know I'd feel better if you kids weren't out there running the roads Friday night. There are coincidences that just make it seem…maybe this animal feeds in certain areas in cycles. I don't know, I'm not an expert, but I'm sure your father would agree with me, regardless.”

“So we need to find something else to do Friday,” Alex said.

“You need to just stay in, stay home and watch a movie, hang out with your friends.”

Alex got up. “You can't tell me what to do. You're not my father.”

“Alex,” Sonya said.

“I'm not your father, but I don't really want to find
you
mauled on the side of the road, either.”

“Come on, Sonya.”

“Alex, it's…”

Ted let him leave. He didn't know what else to say without shouting “don't fucking go out unless you want to get torn apart by a fucking werewolf”.

Then Sonya waved and shut the door behind them.

Ted picked up the Glock and gripped the weapon in his hand. He thought it would fill him with a sense of strength and security. Instead, it felt incredibly small.

“So where was he?” Shelly said.

“He didn't say.” Dwayne sat on the edge of Glescoe's desk.

“That's weird.”

“Has Randy said anything?”

“About what?”

“I don't know. It sounds stupid.”

“What is it?”

“Ted's convinced the wolfman stories are true. He asked me what Joe's plans were. Same as Stan Springs.”

“You starting to believe in monsters?” Glescoe smiled.

“I've always believed in monsters, just the human kind.”

“So what are you thinking?”

“I don't know. I don't want Joe to laugh in my face. Do you know where Randy is?”

“He was scheduled to have off today, but Joe called him in.”

“What for?”

“I didn't hear. I think he went to meet him somewhere.”

Dwayne tapped his fist against his knee and then scooted off the desk. “Call me on my cell if you see Randy. I want to talk to him.”

Randy Hines pulled up next to the sheriff's Range Rover. They were parked down the block from Mel's.

“Sheriff?”

“We need to talk.”

He knew what this was in regards to. He'd been dreaming about it for the last three weeks. Randy stepped out of his car and joined Joe at the front of the truck.

“Cigarette?” Joe offered.

“No thanks, I don't touch the things.”

“I shouldn't either.” Joe exhaled. “I know this isn't easy for you.”

That's putting it mildly.

“But I also know how much you love this town. You saw those bodies. You know what we're dealing with.”

“But how? I mean, after what you did to it?”

Joe took a drag and stared at the forest beyond the end of the street. The sun sinking below the treetops burned a fiery, dark shade of red. “Appears I didn't do my job well enough.”

“Is it…the same one? Is it possible there's another…?”

“I checked the grave. It's empty.”

Randy paced between the vehicles and bit his thumbnail.

“I've already been out to see Olson. He's done a little looking into this problem of ours. I want to show you something.”

Randy followed Joe around to the back of the truck. Joe reached in and pulled out a metal case shaped like a sword.

“What are we going to do?”

Joe flicked the cigarette butt into the dirt and unsheathed the gleaming blade. A flash of the setting sun's bloody hue caused Randy to squint. “We're going to finish it.”

Nick Bruce was sicker than he could ever remember being in his life. Death had knocked on his door a dozen times since he finished the second steak from Jenner's. Relief came in minute spurts when he would faint from the pain, but as if the physical pain weren't enough, his nightmares were even worse. His mind had shown him things over the last six or seven hours that he could never have even come close to imagining on his own.

In his fever dreams, he was chased, hunted and haunted by an animal with very sharp teeth and razor-blade claws. He'd been killed. He'd been slaughtered, and then forced to watch the large animal chew through his dead carcass. Sometimes he was spared the ability to feel the beast gnawing on him, but in most of the nightmare blasts, he felt every bite and every lick.

In his last dream, it all changed.
He
became the one doing the hunting. Though, it wasn't the creature he hunted, but the citizens of Gilson Creek. He chased down the radio jockey Ted McKinney. He cornered Deputy Dwayne Clarke. He stalked Sheriff Fischer and his daughter. He murdered them all. He didn't just take their pathetic lives, but tore them each apart, limb from limb. And as if that weren't enough, he devoured every last scrap of torn flesh and lapped up each minuscule drop of blood and fluid. He wasn't sure of what he'd become in his dreams, but he knew he was no longer just a man. Not even close.

His eyes itched when he opened them, like the time he had conjunctivitis. There was even a sticky discharge. He wiped the thick wetness from the corners of his eyes.

His room—silent and black—felt too small, constricting. He swung his legs from the bed and stumbled to the door. The muscles in his thighs and calves were knotted. His entire frame ached from top to bottom. Even his face hurt. And it wasn't the surface, but what lay beneath. All he could think was that it felt as if his cheekbones and his forehead were swollen.

The kitchen was dark, save for the light above the stove. His mother wasn't here. He couldn't smell her. He wondered how he knew this, but the strange pain in his bones wouldn't allow him to dwell on it. He needed to get outside. Needed the fresh air. He needed to run.